Few subjects invite as much contention in these pages as the matter of what constitutes authentic, New York-style Jewish deli food. I'm not sure why. Northern Nevada doesn't have a large Jewish population or legions of folks with Northeast roots.

But if I so much as mention pastrami — or the Gotham-inspired deli menus that pop up every few years — I have to flak jacket my phone and e-mail. Folks with New York connections (or even with flimsy or nonexistent Big Apple bona fides) take aim at my palate and at the temerity of any restaurateur who'd try to serve New York deli food so far from the D train.

The morning this review runs, I fully expect a certain fellow with a New York accent as thick as sliced tongue to leave a rambling phone message about why Manhattan Deli, the subject of this assessment, deserves a Bronx cheer.

Oy vey.

I wouldn't give the deli, in the Atlantis Casino Resort, a Bronx cheer, but I wouldn't give it a ticker tape parade, either. After a few visits, I'm puzzled — at best.

Who am I?

The menu encompasses all the right deli notes: pastrami, corned beef and brisket; latkes and knishes; bagels and lox; matzo ball soup; cabbage rolls; half chicken in a pot; kosher dogs; cheesecake; egg creams. The food is solid and, in a few cases, outstanding.

The oval restaurant itself is a jazzy blend of sleek red upholstery, dark wood accents, patterned tile floor that looks especially authentic, black-and-white images of Manhattan landmarks, and a central column topped with a spiky crown inspired by the crown on the Statue of Liberty.

But the deli also lies just off the new sportsbook bar, and ceiling televisions broadcast games.

The contrast invites questions: Is Manhattan Deli meant to be an ultra-casual, no frills, grab-a-bite joint, or is it a true sit-down restaurant with culinary ambitions? Can it be both?

A bite of redemption

It seems clear, on a recent visit, what the trio in the adjacent booth wants Manhattan Deli to be. They're boozing it up (without food) as they root for the Minnesota Vikings (I think).

The woman emits whooping shrieks that marry harpy with harridan. The trio's waiter yells along and loudly jokes about how they'd all split imaginary bets (for his and the casino's sake, those bets had better be imaginary).

My party asks to move. Thank goodness a rich mound of chopped chicken liver arrives — not as chunky as I like, but still appealing — to lift my mood. I smear the chicken liver across rye toast squares and top it with chopped egg and onions. Delicious, bubbeleh, delicious.

Service stumbles

Kishka, a sausage pudding, arrives with the chicken liver. It's properly mild and gently earthy. Too bad the waitress doesn't know what the dish is when questioned earlier.

And too bad the busser who delivers the dish sloshes a side of gravy across his hand and fingers and onto a piece of kishka. That's a huge sanitary no-no, and while he apologizes, the busser doesn't remove the dish as he should. Ugh.

Service woes continue. Two parties seated after us receive their food first (our orders are similar). The waitress never checks back during the meal. Dirty dishes sit. Heads swivel searching for someone to take our check (we finally leave exact cash and a tip).

The guy working the pastry counter just outside the restaurant doesn't know what cheese fills the cheese pastries or what rugelach is.

Full stop: At a New York deli, not knowing that rugelach is the classic Jewish cookie is like a pedicurist not recognizing a toenail.

Oy vey.

Classic standout

But once again, the food engenders a measure of forgiveness. Manhattan deli sandwiches are immense, big enough for two.

A pastrami specimen piled with lean meat between chewy sourdough must be four inches high. I like my pastrami a bit more peppery (was this meat steamed too much?), but that's personal preference.

A chicken and egg salad double-decker sandwich is at least 5 inches high and features beautifully fluffy egg salad. At one lunch, the chicken salad is moist and flavorfully chunky, as if just picked from the bone. On this second visit, the chicken is drier and more shredded and processed; I don't like the change.

Fittingly, Manhattan Deli offers its best dish on my initial stop-by, a solo outing where I spoon into a big bowl of deeply flavored chicken broth from which emerge extravagantly fluffy matzo balls. The staff is friendly and efficient, too.